Chalk From the Moon: Book 6 Family
by WrittenAvarice
Summary: Christmas comes early for Michael as an unexpected guest is dropped at his doorstep, with a note claiming to be his brother. But this child holds more secrets than mystery as Michael soon finds nothing is as it seems... The sixth installment... R
1. Christmas Cheer

Unopened presents lay silently under a beautifully lit Christmas tree. It's thin, piny branches were laden with red and gold bulbs, flashing multi-colored lights, candy canes, and an odd assortment of Santa Clause shaped ornaments. The tree's base was draped over with a red velvet blanket I'd bought especially for the occasion. I'd bought a small, porcilean recreation of the manger where baby Jesus lay asleep, accompanied by three wise men, his mother and father, and a little drummer boy. Goats, lambs, and sheep all waited patiently around the figures in awe of the miracle. And at their feet, were the many, many needle-like shavings from the tree. It was Christmas... almost.

I tip-toed through the dim house. The trees light helped alot while I maneuvered around the sleeping figures on the floor.

Nick and Emily were deep asleep. Their bodies were held close together by the new fire place I'd put in about a year after we'd officially moved in. Breathing quietly, and enjoying the peaceful slumber they both shared, I stepped over them.

I thought of when Nick first saw Angela naked, not that there was a second time. That thought that ran through his mind was still fresh in mine. And it made me chuckle as I bent down to add a few more presents too the tree. _So, this is what real naked woman looks like?_ Angela would have strangled him on the spot if she'd heard it.

He didn't mean anything by it, he'd just never seen one before. And after being with Emily for three years now, it was starting to wear me down. Even with instinct clawing at their throats for each other, they resisted. I wasn't sure why though. Not that I'd ever asked. I just wrote it off as a, "Waiting til we're married" thing. I didn't understand it. Even if it was part of the Christian religion, I didn't follow it at all. Nature wouldn't allow me. But somehow, through the thick torment that I _knew_ plagued them, they resisted. And not to sound parental, but I was proud of them... to a point.

The problem came with Nicks jittery aura. Constantly in motion during consciousness, never anymore restless. And as I'd told him time and time again to just give in, he wouldn't. And by the end of every argument, he just said, he couldn't. And without an explanation, he'd leave me too my effects.

Emily was the same way, in her stubbornness, but she was more in control. She wasn't as fidgety, nor as annoying. She could actually sit through a sex scene in a movie, Nick always left the room if the two main characters even kissed. It made going to the movies into a game of pick up sticks. With him wandering around, and the two girls never wanting to leave... I was always trying to gather them all back up.

Emily, who's fear of changing finally subsided when I'd yelled at her too, was now as passive as ever. Which, at times, worried me. I couldn't even pick on her anymore. Still slightly depressed that she'd tried to tear me in half, her confidence was shot, and every time I tried to bring it back up with a good hunt, or a day out of the house, she'd turn me down. But, I never gave up.

Once I'd actually gotten her to try out her new form. Sure I was scared, but it was mostly for her. If she were too live in fear of her second form, then she could never be satisfied with living with others who were. Others being just me.

Angela was another abnormality, but she and I practically shared the same ability. And to be able too read minds in a fight, made all the difference. It got to the point where when she'd instigate a fight with me, we'd be wrestling in our heads more than on the ground. And before either of us moved a muscle, I'd let her win. She was a brilliant fighter, but when you know every move your opponent was about to make... it made the fight a lot less fun.

Fighting with Nick was fun, and he could definitely hold his own. He was fast, wiry, and cunning. Our first fight where I wasn't using his mind against him, he took me down in less than a minute. Yet, after the fight, he was ashamed to have done so.

I'd learned over the three year period we'd lived in peace, that in being an alpha, the others seemed to have a reluctance to listen to me... if I used the right tone. As with yelling at Emily to instigate her first, real, change, she listened without complaint.

I didn't use if often. Even though the thought of it was a little funny to me. I could picture the look on Nick's face as I yelled at him to go get us some McDonalds.

Stiffling another chuckle, I settled the presents in with the others, their bright-red wrapping was a mess of rounded edges and excessive tape. Something Angela would be quick too comment on in the morning. I never learned to gift wrap though. Even with Emily and Angela hammering it into me that it was easy. I guess my talents lied in cooking alone.

Thanksgiving memories flashed across my mind as I thought of food. I'd cooked everything that you possibly could for the occasion. Turkey, of course, stuffing, grilled chicken, three types of gravy, four types of biscuits, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, blueberry pie, red beans and rice, potato salad, etc...

We barely had enough room for all of it. The kitchen was like a taste testing facility. And with Mrs. Nicole helping herself as I cooked, and Nick's family doing the same, I was a stress filled mess. Constantly having Angela shoo people away, and trying to maintain having food on every burner on the stove and in the oven, along with on the grill... it was a very long day. But the pay off was great. We said grace, ate, and were stuffed and happy for two days. The fridge was still packed with food from Thanksgiving.

Claire had come down to celebrate, but because of her new job at a local college near where she lived, she could only stay two days. And as always when she left, I'd wished she could have stayed longer.

The sound of a car pulling into my driveway halted all of my movement. _Please turn around._ I begged, hoping the noise wouldn't wake the two behind me.

Nick rolled over, snorting a little, and Emily followed suit a little quieter, and I was grateful that it ended with that. Usually they were easily awoken, but after the Tripdophan in the turkey had taken hold of them, they were out like a pair of busted lights. Thank God for Thanksgiving.

I heard a door open, a door slam, and then footsteps as the car drove away. I prayed to hear Wilson's voice, or even Derricks. I knew it wasn't Claire. She was spending Christmas with her family in Connecticut.

A small voice sounded on the porch, debating whether or not to come in. I had trouble figuring out whether or not he was talking or thinking. That was a major problem when talking to normal people over the phone. I usually had to take an educated guess, or wait quietly on the other side of the phone line until they repeated their selves.

I didn't wait for him to knock, and with a quickness that bordered dangerously loud, I swung open the door.

This kid, was about five foot eight, five foot nine. His black hair was cut short, military style. Which really didn't hold his surprised expression as well as it should have. And as he stumbled for words, I noticed a large, green bag that leant against the side of the doorway.

"Can I help you?" I asked trying to sound more polite than confused.

His green eyes blinked rapidly as he apparently tried to read my features. I hadn't noticed the porch light wasn't on, and when I flipped it, he raised his hand to shield his eyes.

"I'm looking for a Michael Chalk."

I mused as if there were only one Michael Chalk, but brushed it off as an aggravation for being bothered at two in the morning.

"I'm... him." I really didn't know how to respond as I tried to listen to this kids thoughts, but they were so wild and torrential, I couldn't read anything except his excitement. Which wasn't registering on his face, save a small smile that pulled the left side of his mouth out slightly.

Where as he was at a loss of words, his body language spoke paragraphs. His once sluggish, tired posture, straightened slightly at hearing me announce my presence, and his fingers started to tap against his legs as he thought impatiently how to talk.

"Who's asking?"

He seemed to snap out of his inner dialogue and he reached his hand out to shake mine. "Alan, Alan Davis." The name didn't ring any bells what so ever, but I reached out and shook his hand regardless.

"So why are you on my doorstep..." The smell of wolves hung heavy on his clothes and in his hair. There were dozens of different scents, most of them were easily recognizable, but I couldn't put a face or name to the scent. For a second, I was trapped in glare that seemed to take him back as I thought about the scents. Their musty aroma were definitely familiar.

"Where are you coming from, Alan?" I asked, letting my glare turn to a stare of wonder. "That you'd smell like a pack of wolves..."

He smiled more and more as I interrogated him. The rain blistered down behind him, but regardless, I wasn't about to let some stranger in my house smelling like that.

"Canada."

_That's where it's coming from!_ I thought. Marcus's scent was strongest out of them all, and I felt a little disappointed in myself for not noticing earlier, but it was quickly withdrawn by wonder... and a little excitement. I hadn't heard anything from Canada, except my frequent letters to and from Dr. Curry. The man who'd saved my life three years ago.

"Why are you here?" I didn' mean to be so blunt, but having a strange kid, barely over thirteen, show up at your doorstep at two in the morning on Christmas eve, wasn't really keeping me in the best of moods.

He seemed to notice my anxiousness, and quickly tore a note from his thick, jacket pocket.

I took it politely, unfolded the we paper, and skimmed over it.

_Dear Michael,_

_I'm sorry we never got the chance too meet, and looks like we never will. But I've known you ever since your father first met you. His letters to me from the safe haven in Louisiana told me all about you and your friends. He said if I ever needed anything, to contact you, but with Marcus hanging around, that much would be impossible. Instead, I've sent my son. I cannot allow him to live here, cramped and controlled by Marcus like the others. Living with you is his only chance to be with a real family, not a conglomeration of wolves such as these. And so, under the assumption that you will accept my plea, I thank you. Had it not been for your father, I would never have known either of you. And I feel so selfish having kept Alan to myself like this, but I couldn't risk Dane's life just to keep him from his second son. _

_With love,_

_Evelyn Grace Davis_

It took me a few times too read it to finally piece it all together.

"Huh." I stated. Shock can do a lot to a person. And for me, it shut down my emotion. I felt as though I'd just read a summons to appear in court. "Have you read this?" I asked, my blue eyes locking on to his bright green stare. He was full of hope and wonder as he nodded.

"Huh." I said again. "Hang on."

I stumbled a little as I walked back inside, the door slowly pulled itself closed behind me.

It took me all of two seconds to grab my cigarettes and walk back outside. He'd apparently gotten bored in that short wait and was now sitting in the wicker chair closest too the door, toying with the clip that held his green bag's lid shut.

Without a word I walked over too his side, took a seat, lit a cigarette and smiled. "A brother..."

He was definitely Dane's son. Hell, he looked more like my father than I did. Smelt like him too. That lingering scent hadn't drifted around my house in years. Not since he died. It was definitely Christmas.


	2. Christmas Day

Christmas morning finally arrived, and I had every intention on sleeping in. Even when Angela finally crawled out of bed at ten in the morning, I was determined to sleep in as long as possible. Sure I love Christmas, with the opening of presents, the hot coco that was sure to be made as soon as I felt like making it, and the beautiful sound of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra cd I'd bought last Christmas ushering music into the house. But as I layed there, I wanted nothing more than to slip back into my coma.

Angelas getting dressed didn't bother me as much as it did when she went got up for her morning classes this morning. Usually she'd be shaking me awake so I could tell her where the keys to the Civic out front were. And then she'd wake me again for a final kiss before setting out.

Instead, she slipped on her candy cane pajamas and a giant, green Christmas tree shirt I'd begged for her to wear for today, and slipped out of the room quietly...

As my return to the solace of sleep crawled over me once again, my bedroom door swung open. The hallway light hit my face and I was instantly awoken.

"There's a kid on the couch!" She whispered furiously.

"Let him sleep." I moaned. "He's Canadian." What that had to do with anything, I'll never know. But in my defense, I was half-asleep and wanting the other half desperately. And as I turned over and pulled the thick blanket over my head, she walked over, and shoved me off the bed completely.

"What?!" I yelled.

"There's a _kid_, in my house!" She whispered a little more angrily. Her voice was on the verge of yelling.

"First off, it's our house." I said, trying not to instigate an argument I wasn't equipped to deal with at the time. "Secondly, it's Christmas morning! Let him sleep!"

I pulled the blanket off the bed and wrenched my pillow down as well. Content with the plush carpet and it's cussion, I tucked myself into a small ball within the blanket and closed my eyes.

"So you're not going to tell me where he came from?"

"Nope. Wait til everone else is awake."

As if waiting to be cued, Emily appeared in the doorway, "There's some kid on the couch." She said, as if we hadn't been arguing about it seconds before.

"Alright!" I yelled, getting up off the floor and throwing the blanket on the bed. "Is Nick up?" I asked, hoping there'd be at least one other male figure awake. When I was alone with both the girls, I always felt like they were conspiring against me. Which at times they were. Especially if there was an argument between Angela and I going on.

"Yeah, he's making hot coco."

"What about Alan?"

"Who?" Emily asked. "Oh, the kid. Yeah, he's awake."

I sighed. Maybe staying awake til two in the morning to plant gifts wasn't the best idea for last night.

"Let me get dressed."

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I emerged from what had originally been my father's room, wearing my plaid pajamas and a smile as I thought of how to tell everyone that I had a brother. And as I entered the kitchen, Angela handed me a cup of hot coco, furthering my smile.

In the living room, Alan had Nick pinned to the edge of castle level on Soul Caliber II. I was kind of proud of him, seeing as I still haven't beaten him in that game. And when he got knocked off of the stage, followed by a howl in Nick's dismay, I laughed.

"At least they're getting along." I mused to myself.

Angela had been prodding at my mind, and I could feel it as she tried to pluck an answer too her question from my head. She knew it would have been easier to just ask the kid, but she wasn't good with new people. Hell, none of us were. At least when they appeared suddenly in our home.

"Morning little brother." I said casually, raising my hot cup to his victory.

"Morning!" He said, then turned away to finish Nick off with round two.

"_Brother?_" Angela whispered angrily at me. "You never told me you had a brother." I knew she was mad that I hadn't told her when she asked the first time. But I was determined to get the reaction from them that I wanted. And sure enough...

Nick's character was uppercutted off the stage, Emily was furiously looking back and forth between the two of us as Alan celebrated, and Angela was stricken with surprise and an almost giddy feeling building up in her. Every single one of us, was a single child. Except for me now, and since they were like family, they saw him as much a brother as I did. I could feel it.

"So who wants to open presents?" I asked before taking a sip coco. I couldn't help but laugh in the hot chocolate that burnt my lips.

******************************************************************************

Wrapping paper littered the living room floor. The sounds of Faith Noel swam through the house, and everyone was smiling. This was why I loved Christmas. To me, it was impossible to be sad when around so many happy faces. The Christmas cheer was infectious as we all opened our presents... all except Alan.

He seemed content with just watching and laughing with the rest of us every time it was Nick's turn. His thick fingers and short nails just weren't a match for Emily and Angela's tight packaging. Even I had trouble. It was like trying to scratch away the plastic covering on a new DVD.

As we passed more and more gifts around, a great deal of knocking had interrupted us. And when Alan answered the door, he was greeted with a chorus of cheering, most of it confused. "I'm Michael's brother." He explained time after time as more and more of Nick and Angela's family poured into our house.

Nick's mom, dad, two uncles, three aunts, and all of their kids were here. Mrs. Nicole and her sister Esther stopped by as well, with both of Angela's little nieces, Kathlyn and Brianna. They both resembled their mother with their dirty blond hair and rosy cheeks.

We'd prepared for so many people, and once again, we were passing around gifts. Letting the kids unwrap their gifts first, we smiled and waited for their impatient workings to pay off. And cheering at their new toys and games, we celebrated.

Even Alan was having a good time, helping little Brianna unwrap her presents. _Family._..

******************************************************************************

After everyone had left, Alan, Nick, and I went out to gather firewood for a bonfire. And with the nice, cool climate, it wasn't a very pressing issue to get it going. We'd piled bit's of rotted wood from my father's old collection, and dead branches that'd fallen from the trees in the forest.

Nick, thinking it would be a great idea, decided to stick a handful of fireworks under the teepee shaped edifice that we'd made. And what made the matter worse, was that while I poured deisol over it, I had asked them what smelt like gun powder.

Their reactions when I'd finally lit it, and was stoking it a little to spread the flame, were that of unbridled anticipation.

"What's wrong with you two?" I asked. And not a second later, a loud pop, followed by twenty more, sounded off. I nearly jumped out of my skin, making myself fall back in fear. And they were rolling on the ground when I finally got up.

"Yeah," I said a little annoyed by my inattention. "Real Christmasy."

******************************************************************************

With the fire roaring, and the last of the CD in the radio playing, we relaxed at the feet of the fire. A long blanket that Emily had dragged out of the house was draped along the dry, cold grass.

I was lying back on it, listening to the music. Nick and Emily were snuggling closer to the fire. And Angela had finally started talking to Alan. He was a little afraid of her, with how she acted that morning, but he had good reason. I'm pretty sure she wasn't as friendly as she should have been when she saw him there, flipping through channels, half-awake on the couch.

"So you and Michael have the same dad."

"Yup." They were pretty deep in the conversation when I'd finally started listening. I'd started as soon as the music finally met it's end by the low battery power it had, and now they were all I had to listen too. "My mom had gotten in a fight with grandpa, and then that night, she flew me down to Louisiana, and I took a taxi here."

"Wow."

I stifled a chuckle as I listened.

"So, how do you like it here so far?" She asked. A question I wasn't particularly worried about. The way that boy smiled... I doubted he held any regret.

"I love it here. It's more open, there's actually room to breathe, and the little kids aren't around to bother me anymore." He said, shifting his weight back on his elbows to soak up some more of the flames heat.

I laughed a little, remembering how intrusive those little kids were. And then I remembered their blue eyes. Alan had green, just like I had. A trait that I'd love to get back one day. But that was impossible.

"Hey, butt out!" Angela yelled playfully, throwing a marshmallow at me.

"And what if I don't?" I asked, leaning forward ready to run.

She didn't need to answer. Instead, she shot up, and I bolted for the other side of the fire, where she tackled me into the grass.

We rolled around for a while as I tried to get out of her grip, and in that instant... life was perfect. _A perfect end to another great year. _


	3. Outing

"Can I come with you?" Alan asked, catching me before I headed out the door. It was the day after Christmas, and knowing that it'd be rude to ask any of Nick's deck hands to come out after spending only a day with their families, I nodded.

"You'll have to hurry and get dressed." I said, noting he was wearing a mixed match set of pajamas, "And dress for heat."

He nodded, smiling, and was barreling up the stairs.

In the three years that Nick and I had started our business, we'd gained another two boats, and now made triple what we were making when we'd started. We'd named the boats after our mates, for sintemental reasons. Meaning when Emily got a boat named after her, Angela was on my case to do the same... or she'd hurt me. The usual threat.

At first, there was a big controversy over what Nick and I had done. Many of the other fisherman were furious for expanding our little fortune, and for a while, we felt the same. Guilt showered us those first few weeks with the two new boats. And then we got our crews, which were a hundred percent, Dock yard drunks.

The jobs gave them liberation. The money gave them lives. At least, that's what Nick told me. He was sure that hiring a bunch of dock drunks would help us in the long run, and save us money. It wasn't about the money, I told him. And before I could scrap the idea, or at least my share, we saw what the jobs did for them.

Earl Rihneart, Sebastian Gale, and Antonio De Sentas, were the first crew we'd put together. And within only a month, they'd banded together to rent out a lease right next to the Delta Marina entrance. And two weeks later, disbanded, having enough to live separately. Most of that came from my advise to take out loans, build up credit, and with Nick as their boss, they were garounteed jobs. Something my consciousness could deal with.

My new crew was just me, Emmett Bronx, and Delius Nathaniel, who I just called D. It was less... middle-aged than Delius. They weren't unbearable to work with, but at times they'd push my buttons for a good laugh. Now, where I didn't know much about the men on Nick's crew, I knew mine like the back of my hand. D, was a construction worker, one of the men who actually built the bridge that connected Empire, LA, to Buras. He was turning forty-eight in February. His two kids were coming down from Edwards Air Force Base, for the occasion. He had good kids. I actually went to school with them. I just never remembered their names. I knew his sons name was something like James, or Jake... the others was a mystery.

Emmett, was only working with me to put himself through college so he could someday be an NFL coach. Which after listening to him talk during a game we'd listened too one day... I was sure he could make it. He had a great ability to envision how the field looked, with all of it's players lined up and ready to start. There was also a good man hiding under the football lingo, he was definitely a good drinking buddy, and one hell of an deck hand. I liked my crew.

This morning, however, I called them and said that me and Nick would be going in for a short morning. They appreciated the day off, but D was a little let down. Said he was ready to go about ten minutes before I even called. And laughing, he hung up after a "see you later".

This morning, it'd be just Nick and I... and Alan if he would ever hurry up.

"You coming?" I asked, my voice reverberated up the stairs, causing a stir in Alan's room. Which had been my room until I finally built up the courage to take my father's as my own. That was a very stressful move. Having to pack up all of my dads belongings... I couldn't get rid of them. So, I stored the important things of his, in the bottom of my side of the closet. His wrist watch that'd stopped, his wallet and the effects inside, a wedding ring that he'd once been given by my mom, and a few other nick knacks. The most important to me, was a book that he'd been holding when he... died. On the front of it's red velvet cover, were the words, _Please God, Forgive Me_.

Alan, finally emerged from his room. I'd already gone outside, but as soon as he'd opened the door, I hurried him to the Civic, where Nick had fallen asleep in the passenger seat. "Hurry up, we've got to shrimp boats. They always take forever too gas up."

******************************************************************************

The dredge line clanked as it pulled it's pregnant claws to the waters surface. The bright sun's light glistened and faded as it passed through the net full of oysters. Slowly it made it's way further up to the side of the boat, catching on the sorting table. Without any effort, Nick and I grasped the net links and flipped our catch onto our table.

"People eat those?" Alan asked. He was sitting on a giant mountain of Burlap sacks. We hadn't even gotten our first break, and just the thought of telling him how great oysters tasted... made me hungry.

"Yeah!" I said, a little too exuberant. Grabbing one off the table and popping it open, I scraped the oyster knife under the smooth, silver skin of the oyster, and handed it too him. "Try one."

He took it, skeptically. I thought he'd puke with the look he gave it. Nick looked over and laughed, getting back too work to stave off his tired mind. He'd been fighting sleep ever since he woke up at the dock. I knew he was having trouble, so I put on some slow rock over the speakers. Right now we were listening to Adams song, by Blink 182.

"Some people peal out the eye because of it's toughness." Nick said, peering through his peripheral at Alan. His eyes had been corrected automatically by his first change. Which meant no more glasses, unless his parents came around, and no more stigmatism. He was happy about it, to say the least.

Alan grimaced in the thought of this grey glob having an oyster... "I don't think I can do this." He said, poking it. I was on my twentieth oyster when he finally picked it up out of the half-shell. "This is so gross." He said, ripping off the eye, hoping that he was right in his assumption.

He held his breath, said a prayer, and then dropped the salty oyster in his open mouth. He didn't even have time to bite down before throwing himself over the railing to puke it up.

"You're supposed to bite into their stomachs. That's where the green stuff is." Nick laughed, not helping.

Alan puked even harder. "Oh, God." He said.

And as he turned, I popped an oyster open, scraped the bottom, and ate it right in front of him. He almost lost it again, calling me a jerk.

"Mike, is that a squall?" Nick asked, pointing out further into the Gulf of Mexico. To someone without a good sense of direction, like Nick, it would be really easy to get lost out in the Gulf.

As I looked out, I could see clouds swirling, they weren't ready to drop yet, which meant we had about an hour before we'd be in any real danger.

"Yeah, looks like it's a good five miles out." I said, raising my hand to block out the sun. When you fish for oysters, you drive in circles. It allows you to use the most of the lots that you payed good money for. "We should be fine though, winds blowing away from us."

"Is that like a tornado?" Alan asked, now sitting on the deck against the burlap mountain behind him.

"Kind of. In the sense that it's something to avoid at all costs."

"Then why aren't we going back in?"

"Cause we've got the wind on our side, and bills to pay." I said simply, getting back to work. We really didn't have _any_ big bills. With the house payed off, along with the land that it stood on, all we really had left were the two car notes and the insurance for the boats. The boats, were payed off with the life insurance from my father. Something I was totally against at first... but after talking it over with Angela, we decided it to be a good idea. Nick was ecstatic.

"Hell yes." Nick agreed. He and Emily were saving up for a wedding that both of them were dying for.

Starting off where my thoughts led me, I decided to go along with my continued argument with Nick. The one he was always so desperate to avoid. "So when are you and Emily going to stop torturing each other and finally listen to your instincts?" I asked, careful of what I said around Alan. I didn't know what he was use to hearing with the old pack, so I kept it coy. Besides, he really needed time for his stomach to settle.

"Is there anything too eat?" Alan asked, interupting the glaring Nick that stood working on the other side of the table.

I pointed to the cabin and when he was away from us, closing the door behind him, Nick threw a small clam at me. "Why won't you let this go?" He asked, getting back to his work.

"Because it hurts me to see you so... anxious." I lied. I just wanted the constant tension between the two lovers to end. It bothered me to no end, and it never gave in. I was actually surprised to see their behavior during Christmas day. And I really wanted that back. _That's not selfish._ I told myself.

"Don't be an ass. Emily and I decided to wait until marriage. And that's the end of it."

Alan emerged from the quiet cabin, a can of Vienna sausages in hand. "Am I going to start school here?" He asked.

I had actually thought all morning of a good argument for Nick's situation, but Alan's question actually brought me to something else I wanted to get at today. His mother had sent me all of his paperwork, including his birth certificate, social security card, and a rather incomplete transcript of what she'd been home schooling him on. To be honest... I didn't know what I was going to do with it all!

"I'll have to figure something out, but yeah. I was going to try and set you up as soon as school started again."

He only nodded. He didn't want to go. That much was clear. He must've been on a guilt trip.

The day went on though. Through the sounds of a mixed CD and the thumps and cracks of our works progress, the day passed. We worked through the heat, the squall let us be, and we spent the day enjoying each others company, and then had lunch.

Alan mostly ate in silence. He'd ask the occasional question whenever someone looked at him. _Probably a defense mechanism._ I wrote it off as a sudden timid mood change. I really didn't know enough about my brother to read him. And so I had to ask. "What's wrong, Alan?"

"Nothing. Just thinking of life after school." He was telling the truth, but not all of it.

I eyed him for a few seconds, and he just stared down at his meager meal. Canned meat, and a few random snacks from my stash. Seeing as how he didn't like seafood, I just gave him what was left in my bag.

"Nick, can you give us a sec?"

"Sure." He said, grabbing his half-eaten burger and soda. He left quietly, but I knew he'd be able too hear through the thin glass, even with the speakers pounding out a more upbeat tune.

"It's not just that is it?" I asked. He didn't say anything. "If you're worried about the change, or not being able too see your mom for a while, or anything else, you know you can tell me, right?"

"I know. But it doesn't make it any easier."

"Come on. You can't say that." I argued. "Everything gets better over time."

He sighed, taking a handful of chips out of their bag and placing them on his plate. "Not when your mom has cancer."


	4. Ignorance

"You've really got to read this book!" I heard as I walked into the house. My feet hurt, my head hurt, and I really just wanted to get started on dinner, eat, and then go to bed. But as I went to walk past Angela, I nearly tripped over a large, brown box set behind the L-shaped couch. It was already ripped open, with little styraphome S's gathered around it. They were scattered even further as I tilted it to see what was inside.

Angela however, was unaffected by my intrusion. Her face was practically hidden behind a large, black book. Its leather binding was wrinkled, yet tightly bound. A thick red ribbon hung from the top lazily as if it were a stray feather.

She sat really still as she read on. Her feet were drawn up, and a soft, silk blanket hung over her bare legs. She was in her own little world, as she always was when she read a good book.

"Where'd you get it?" I asked, kicking off my boot; Nick and Alan were still outside, talking. About what? I don't know. But I was sure it was something along the lines of what Alan had told me. And so, I decided not to pry.

I was never a good role model when it came too coping. Regardless of whether or not I wanted to face my tragedies, I always wound up bottling them up, and letting them die off on their own time. Angela caught onto it pretty quick when I'd found out my dad died. And though we both knew it was unhealthy, we both knew that it would soon be out of my mind, and I'd be back to normal. _I just hope Alan isn't the same way._

"It came in the mail. Apparently your grandfather wanted me to have this." She said, thumbing through what little of the book she hadn't read already. "I think it's our history." Her face hardened a little as she tried to find her page again.

"Well, are you sure?"

"Not really. It's pretty much an archive of old stories."

"Whatever. I'm about to heat up some food, what do you want?" I asked, shifting my weight onto the couch as I wrenched off my socks, one after the other. I hated the smell of salt water and cotton. It was a horrible reeking smell!

"Turkey and Chinese food." She said simply. I almost expected a snap of her fingers as she said so.

I leant on the back of the couch until I fell into her closed lap. My head rested right under the book, and I stared up at her.

"What?" She asked, smiling as she pretended not to notice me. "I'm reading."

"I'm just thinking." I lied. I was really procrastinating. I didn't want to order Chinese food. Mainly because I couldn't understand any of the receptionists that worked at the China Wok. "You should call."

"I just said I'm reading." She said, trying not to smile again.

"But I just got off work." I complained. "Come on, bae!"

She looked down at me. Her eyes were telling me what she _really _wanted. But her mouth said, "Fine. But only because you just got home."

I kissed her and she shoved my head off of her lap, almost making me fall to the floor. Reaching out, I snatched the book from her hands. "Hey!" She yelled as I tried to pull myself up. My fingers clenched aground the book as I struggled futily not to laugh. Small cracks and a smile littered my reddening face.

She snatched the book from my hand, and I fell. "I was reading that!" She said simply, smirking as she filed her fingers through the pages, trying to get her concentration back on track.

The front door opened, canceling my attack on Angela.

Alan shuffled in wordlessly. He was thankful that no one said anything about it as he walked up the stairs to his bedroom. A gloomy aura was easily visible around him as he disappeared into the upstairs hallway.

"What was that about?" I asked.

Nick shrugged. "Kid just misses his mom." He said. His voice was soft, quiet, and sad. It was instantly sobering to hear him talk like that. He and Wilson had that in common.

"Are you talking about Alan?" Angela asked, still unmoving from her spot.

"Yes we are Mrs. Obvious." I said under my breath. In which, she struck me with the book for. "Ow." I mumbled.

"Be serious, Michael." Nick pleaded. "He's not like you. He's definitely going to need time to grieve."

I sighed. He was right. I just hated being around sad people. Their presence was always so depressing, and being me; I'd always make things worse. I didn't really know how to help people cope, nor did I know much about coping myself. Hell, I was still trying to make myself believe I'd been abandoned…

I heard Angela flip open her book once again, and once again, she was thumbing through the pages to find hers.

"So what's happening?" She asked, trying to multi-task.

"Alan's mom has cancer, and she sent him here so he wouldn't belong to Marcus's Pack after she passed." I said, trying my best to get her up to speed in one sentence.

She dropped her book, and flicked my ear.

"Hey!" I yelled. Playfulness was absent in her intent.

"You're just going to let your grieving brother sit alone in his room while his mom dies?!" She yelled back. She was much angrier than I was, and it was definitely justifiable.

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked as she pushed past me and headed for the stairs. She quickly turned on me, her face was fury red.

"You're supposed to make him feel better! You ignorant ass!" She yelled, sprinting up the stairs. Her feet smashed against the stairs as she neared the top. She really wanted me to feel her anger. I could feel it pushing against my consciousness, and it took a lot of concentration to nullify it.

Alan's door opened. I could hear a quiet sob, and then the door shut.

I shoved a plate full of shaved turkey slices into the microwave angrily as I tried to get over what Angela had said. I thought that after a quick shower I'd be able to shake it off, but her words held stronger than I'd have thought.

"She's right you know." Nick commented after putting down the phone. I was glad he decided to call the China Wok while I showered.

"I know she's right, but you don't have to rub it in."

"Maybe I do." He said.

I glared at him, but my gaze was instantly met with concern. I could already hear what he was going to say.

"Don't." I warned, fat-fingering the buttons on the microwave, which now said forty minutes. "Dammit!" I yelled, instantly frustrated.

Shut up and take it. That was the only thing that got me through living with my mom, and I was determined to make it last even after she left me.

"It's just going to be harder for you when you finally do cope." He said.

"I've already made my peace, now just leave it." I said, fixing the time on the machine. My hand was shaking as I tried not to fat-finger it again.

"I'm just saying, man. His mom's about to pass. She could probably be dead already, for all we know."

"Yeah." I said coldly. "I know. So just leave it alone." My tone frosted over my lips as I chewed at the chapped skin that lined the bottom.

"You had to watch yours get eaten."

"NICHOLAS!" I yelled. I felt bad for playing this trump card, but it was all I had left in me.

He locked up. His eyes dilated slightly, and he was instantly quieted. Being an alpha, was both a blessing and a curse. If I wanted, I could have sent him outside, or had him watch the turkey until it was done, but I didn't. "Just, let it go."


	5. Green Thumb

The cool winter's breeze rolled in nicely over the porch where I sat. It blew out into the yard, swimming along the many blades of grass, creating the illusion of smoke. It sifted and intertwined the uncut yard and then rushed up into the trees. The sounds of shaking branches and falling leaves was an impeccable symphony of beauty. Mixed with the sounds of my wicker chair creaking as I leant in back on its hind legs, it created a perfect atmosphere. The kind that I'd grown very fond of over the years.

I scraped up the last bite of my shrimp fried rice onto my fork, and savored its final taste. The salty shrimp, and well prepared rice mixed with egg and oriental spices left a remarkable after taste in my mouth. One of the many reasons I loved Chinese food. Mix the taste of it all, along with the tryptophan chemical made by cooking turkey, and you've got a recipe for domestication.

I made sure to close off my mind to my prying mate that relaxed on the living room couch. She wasn't use to having me shut her out, and I could feel her frustration at me, even through the thick walls and furniture that blocked her direct path to me.

I wasn't sure how long she'd be mad at me for being so clueless on how to deal with Alan, but I did know that I'd be suffering for it. Even being an Alpha has its limits. And when my mate was unhappy, I was unhappy. It was pretty much the same as being married.

A sharp ping cut my thoughts off completely.

A frustrated grunt and the sound of cloth ripping against thin metal rang in my ears as I sat the chair back on all fours and stood.

The noise was short, but I could already tell where it was coming from. And I had a pretty good idea who was making the racket. _Dammit Alan._

I stayed in the night's shadows that clung to the side of the house as I moved quietly to investigate. And to my dismay, I came across Alan. He stood on the second story roof, gauging the distance between where he stood, and the tree that he planned to jump to. In that moment, he reminded me of, well me.

It took him all of three seconds to judge the distance, plan his trajectory, and then make a run for it. His bare feet were almost inaudible as he sprinted against the black shingles and launched himself for the thickest, closest branch.

His fingers just barely caught them as his own weight caught him off guard. I could tell he wasn't a very strong child.

As his left arm gave out, I felt the need to rush under him so he wouldn't fall. But when his right held strong, I stapled myself where I stood.

He _was_ strong, just not as strong as a boy his age should be.

"Craaaaap." He muttered as he swung his left arm forward, monkeying across the distance until he was close enough to the ground to fall without injury. _Bend your knees when you land, and come down with the recoil. _He told himself.

I found myself wondering where he'd learned that bit of knowledge. I no longer had to go by those rules unless the drop was over thirty feet. My bones were practically made of iron, and not easily broken.

He took a deep breath, released his hands and fell right on his butt. I stifled a laugh and watched him complain. There was some sort of de ja-vu hovering around me as I watched. _At least he didn't get his leg stuck in the tree like I did._ I jested. That was a horrible memory, but after hearing my dad tell the story, there was nothing left to do but laugh at myself.

He dusted off his khaki shorts; their legs were cut just under his knees, which meant that they were once a good pair of pants. _I really have to get that kid some new clothes._ I thought, making a mental note of it as I did so.

After a few complaints about the landing and some mental curses, he pocketed his hands to stave off the bracing wind and started walking out into the forest. I wasn't really worried about him leaving, as much as I was about him being cold. And so with my head begging me not to, I followed up to him. Making slow progress to keep my footsteps from being heard.

As his feet left the grass covered yard and into the barren, dirt floor of the forest, something happened. As his feet rose from the dirt, small shudders resounded underneath the forsaken land. And one by one, small, green blades of grass sprouted. With every step, was a new patch of plant life thriving in his presence. And soon, I found myself not moving forward at all. My breathing was halted.

Yet, further and further he plunged into the darkness, touching the bark of withering trees, and with every imprint, grew vines with beautiful blue flowers sprouting from small pods that lined the vines. Like hundreds of pairs of eyes, they shined deeply in the moonlight. Their white pupils were surrounded in perfect circles by deep, violet blue pedals.

"That's impossible." I said, absent-mindedly.

Alan quickly turned, and the many blades of grass that once occupied the space around him were now cowering back under the dirt, hiding as if they were self-aware. _Oh, god! Did he see?_ He thought, panicking inside.

"Yeah, I saw." I said, awestruck by the new life that surrounded the forests entrance. The vines grew out pretty far, enough so to reach out and latch onto other trees that were in a close enough proximity. They spider webbed between the cracked tree bark and spread their roots deep into their hosts. The blades of grass that arose from where he once stood, had finally stopped growing, and as if by choice, comingled in with the original lawn. Both in size and color.

Alan, however, wasn't taking this very lightly. His face was wrought with fear, his hands shook uncontrollably, and I couldn't make out a single thought in his head.

"Alan?" I asked.

His stomach turned slightly as I watched him. He was definitely debating whether or not to run. His legs trembled, and his eyes were watching me.

I took a relaxed pose. "Don't run." I warned, watching his hands twitch as he became surprised at my tone. "Just calm down."

I took a small step over to him. The ground under my feet shook a little, and I debated whether or not it was he who was causing it.

I listened in on what he was thinking, and after a few more steps, it became clear that he thought he was in danger because of what he could do. He believed that he would be cast out by our kind, thrown aside, or worse… But it was all a lie.

"I'm not like Marcus." I told him. Just the name made him shudder, and I started to wonder whether or not he was right. _Every man in our family is hated deeply. _His words were like a splash of cold water on my face. Disorienting and abrupt. _Was it because we were alpha's? A family bred to lead?_

"That doesn't mean you're not like the rest of them!" He yelled, taking a few steps back. "Quick to judge."

"If anything, you're more like them than I am!" I yelled back, not too sure on who _them_ was. But I was sure that it was meant to be an insult.

He seemed taken back by what I said. The ground trembled slightly less as I backed off.

"Alan, just tell me what's going on. Maybe I can help."

"But I'm not like you." He said simply. A longing tone rattled his voice. It was almost as if he were truly alone.

"Wait, wait. I'm getting ahead of myself." I said, rubbing my eyes. "Are you saying you're mixed with something else?"

"Well, how many other wolves do you know that can do what I do?" He said, defensively. It sounded to me like he had known discrimination, or was taught to fear it. But regardless to how he feared his current situation, I couldn't help but laugh.

"Have you even met the girls yet?"


	6. Atrocity

"So I'm not the only one with… a gift?" He asked timidly. To which I shook my head, still smiling.

"Nick is the only normal pack member I lead." I said, scratching the back of my head as I thought of the gaggle of misfits I'd somehow acquired over the years. And out of all of them, Nick was the only normal person. He didn't read minds, control plants, or have a violent power with his hair.

"So what can you do?" He asked, honestly curious. He leant against a great oak tree that _was_ withered, but was now thriving in his company. The bark thickened and turned a golden brown. Broken twigs and half-fallen leaves were now standing erect and beautifully on every branch. In my opinion, Alan had the most beautiful gift I'd ever seen. Which made me feel self-conscious of the gift Angela and I shared.

"I read minds." I said simply. My feeble gift was very useful in some situations, but it would never be as dramatic as his. Not that I envy him or anything. I can't imagine how growing plant life uncontrollably would help in a hunting trip, or in a fight.

Though, as unamazing as I thought my gift was, he seemed a little enthused about it. "Really?" He asked, a bright smile stretched across his face and his green eyes lit up like emeralds. "Have you ever tried playing poker with your gift?" He asked.

That was a good idea, and one I hadn't thought of before, but the truth was, "No one here would ever want to play with me, or Angela."

"What can she do?"

"Same thing."

"That's a weird coincidence." He stated.

"Trust me, it's not a coincidence, and it's not something I want you asking her about either. Just, trust me."

He nodded, and before he could ask his third question, I decided to answer all of the questions that plagued his mind at once.

"Emily can possess people, and instead of just having a wolf form when she changes, she can alternate between a full-blooded witch, and back at will." I said, cringing and rubbing my sides as I thought about it.

"Is she strong?" He asked. He must've felt something in the way I moved at the remembrance of that horrible night. And without a word, I pulled up my shirt. And showed him the reason I even wore a shirt.

There were hundreds of paper thin scars that ran along my ribs and across my chest and back. And then there were two great scars, the size of two rulers set side by side. Those were from when she twisted them together. It really didn't take me long to want to hide them again.

"You've got more rings than Saturn!" He said, in awe of my battle scars.

I chuckled a little, half in pain of remembering those tiny fibers cutting into me.

Though, thankfully Emily was finally alright with her second form. Though she was always quick to change back the minute she felt boredom creeping in on her. We'd found out early on that if she gets bored, the strands of hair will start to do whatever they wanted, and when you've got thousands of yards of hair shooting out in all directions, tearing apart the scenery… well, you'll really want to prevent it.

She usually just uses that form to keep stray mutts away.

A problem we haven't really had. All I knew was that when a mutt starts making trouble, you can either scare him away, which was my philosophy, or you could kill them, which was every one else's philosophy. There was just something about killing people that made me feel… like I wouldn't want to stop after I'd started. There was a definite fear of control there, something that had almost taken Emily's life twice, and Tony's, (whose little girl they'd brought down to spend a week with us before traveling across Mexico.)

Tony was a man I didn't really know. But after almost killing a man, you kind of feel guilty for bringing him any harm. Besides, he _was_ a good guy. His wife Beatrice was a gem, and their little daughter was just cute as could be.

"So that's why my mom sent me to you." He said, musing to himself. "That's what she must've meant when she said you were special."

I really doubted that. With everyone and their mother back at Marcus's knowing how my true form looked; I was fairly sure what she meant. But, I kept myself quiet about it. Instead, I turned back to the original reason I'd followed him out here in the first place.

"So what were you going to do out here?" I asked, feeling a little more like a parent than an older brother. _I guess that's something I'll have to shake off._

"I just like the woods around here." He replied. Not a single hint of a lie on him. But I was still skeptical. I loved the woods out here too, but not enough to just shut myself away from everyone inside to walk through it alone.

"I know what you mean. Well, kind of." I said, forgetting the fact that he hadn't yet changed. "The smell is richer here. It's more defined."

He looked lost.

"You'll find out soon enough. Now let's get you back inside, and you can tell Angela how good of a big brother I am." I said smiling.

"Do you really think what I have to say is going to change the fact that she's mad at _you?"_ He asked. A smile planted on his face.

"Your right."

I finished off the Chinese food, and ate the last of the stuffing that was still in the fridge before going to bed. Fortunately, having seen us laughing together as we came back into the house, Angela had decided to forgive me. And as I lay down in my comfortable, king-sized mattress, I relaxed.

At least until the phone rang.

It was almost three in the morning, and when I answered it, I couldn't have been any more surprised.

In an angry growl over the other line of the phone, Marcus yelled, "Where's the boy!"

At almost three, no one wants to be yelled at. And with the short fuse cut even shorter by the time of night, I yelled back, awaking Angela.

"Don't yell at me!"

He seemed to be stressed out completely. But after a few labored breaths, he was able to talk like a normal person once again.

"Where's the boy?" He asked calmly.

"Grandpa, it's almost three here, can't this wait for morning?" I complained, not wanting to have to deal with this just yet. I knew eventually that he'd be furious that Alan's mother sent him to me instead of trusting his grandson to him. And I knew it would fall on me. What surprised me though, was that it took him three days to find out he was here.

"No this can't wait!" He was yelling again. "Do you have any idea how weak I look with a runaway child?"

Truth was, I didn't. What I think was really pissing him off so badly, was that his mother had instigated this. She saw him as he was. A collector, rather than a natural leader.

"Listen, Marcus." I began, trying not to yell. "He's here, he's fine, and when he finally changes, we'll let him decide where he wants to stay, okay?"

"NO!!!"

I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Angela gave me an angry look, and before I could blame the noise on Marcus, she'd shoved me off the bed, pulled the covers over her head, and pointed towards the door.

_Dammit, Marcus!_

"And why the hell not? He's not a mutt; he's not even a werewolf yet! Give him some room to grow."

"Don't try to bullshit me, Michael! You know just as well as I do that when he finally changes, he'll follow you to the end of the earth!" Whereas it was insulting to have him disgrace me like that, he was right. I knew it instantly. It was the whole reason that Alan's mother sent him to me.

"Look. I'm putting him in school, feeding him, clothing him, and giving him shelter. I'm doing you a favor! Besides, he's not one of your little collectables, he's your grandson!"

He was quiet on the other side.

"Please don't make this more trouble than it has to be, Marcus. It's what his dying mother wanted."

"Dead." His voice was cold. It sounded devoid of any compassion for a woman with cancer, and if I suspected right, there was a hint of malice…

And I was transfixed by what he'd said. "Pardon."

"She's dead."

"That's not right for someone to die so quickly from cancer, Marcus!" I yelled, leaning against the kitchen counter nearest the fridge. Cancer doesn't kill someone after three days of a diagnosis, no matter how strong it was. Which after a long silence between us, made me ask, "What did you do?"

"Michael, she was a traitor to send that boy to you!" He yelled, instantly defending himself.

"Shut up, Marcus! Just shut up!" I yelled.

It took me a while to calm down and assess the situation, and a lot more to keep me from garnering that rage into something violent. And after I opened my mouth, I found that I hadn't changed anything at all. "You killed a woman with Cancer! You _killed_ your grandson's mother!" I said, trying to convince him of the evil that he'd committed. "Why?! What did that accomplish?!"

There was a click as he hung up, and there was nothing left in me to keep me from slamming the phone into the floor. The tiles cracked under its pressure and the cordless phone splintered into a thousand plastic shards. The battery skidded under the table, and the rest of it was littered around me.

"_GOD DAMMIT!!!"_


	7. Initial and Extreme Reaction

_He killed her. He killed her, and he doesn't care. He killed her… because she cared…_

No matter how hard I tried to stifle the anger that pressed it's cold face against my heart, it's effects only proved to show all the more.

_He killed her like she was nothing._

I grinded my knuckles together as I sat against the kitchen cabinets. The thick skin was too hard against the white bone that pushed beneath it too move or contour.

"Michael?" Angela called.

"Over here." I said quietly, as if I hadn't made enough noise to wake the entire state of Louisiana already.

She was tired, but her fear of what she'd heard earlier shown itself right through her exhaustion. Though, the minute she saw me sitting around a small spatter of debris, she was quick to my side. She asked what happened, and what I was sitting in. And I just shrugged.

I was trying my hardest to maintain, and not to cry. But the magnitude, of what I knew, held too much weight and I collapsed under her touch. Like a fragile pile of glass, balancing on a twig. A single movement of her warm tender skin on my cheek was just enough force to toss me to the ground.

"_He killed her…_" I said weakly. My knees drew themselves up against my chest and tried to border my sadness in. But as with my anger, and my inability to cope, it came tumbling forward, and knocked me back down.

She didn't say anything. There was nothing to say.

Instead, she pushed my knees aside, scooted close to me, and pulled my head into her arms. Her pale skin always seemed cold at a sight, but was truly, a comforting warm.

I found that as she held me there, everything that had once bottled in my chest seemed to die away. Even as I tried to smother my gasping breaths, and slow my seeping tears, the addiction of the pain seemed to just pull me in.

I thought of when I watched my mother die, right before my seven year old eyes. I remember the red that glinted in the streetlights more than anything. I remember being told that I might die. I remembered tearing Angela away from her mother, and the passing of Nick's Uncle Gary. But most of all, I remembered my father. The undeniable fact that I couldn't protect him; it only made things worse when I tried to repress it. Lashing out didn't help and neither did trying to forget that it had even happened.

I remembered the smell of blood, the scent of death, floundering around the house and sifting through the furniture until it hit my nose. The aroma of lit gunpowder was quick to detect, and with that scent I found myself running. Knocking chairs and other objects from my path, I was in a suspended state of fear. I held my breath all the way into my father's Sun room… and then I saw him.

His face was gone. All that was left was a dripping socket of blood and partial brain matter. The edges of his skull were splintered and jagged, and I couldn't have been in anymore denial as I was before about what had happened. At the time, I told myself it wasn't real. I'd hallucinated before, and I knew how real it looked… but this _was_ real…. And he_ is_ dead.

"I'm sorry."

I hadn't even realized that I had been muttering it over and over since I started crying. And as I raised my head from her embrace, I noticed that everyone was around me. Their hands were on my shoulders, and their eyes burned fiercely for me to be okay.

But I looked away from them. I stared only at Alan. And as he sat across from us all, I knew what I had to do.

"We're going to Canada."

"Hello?" She answered groggily. Her tired voice was heavy with regret for having to answering the phone so early in the morning.

"Claire. I need you to come back down to Louisiana." I said quickly. I didn't want to cry over the phone, nor did I want her to worry.

"Michael? Michael, it's two in the morning." She complained.

I ignored her complaint. Looking into the living room, I made sure Alan was out of earshot. I'd told him what had happened, and he was crying even harder than I was. His torso was bent over his legs and he was furiously trying not to scream. The wave of tragedy that rushed under his skin was completely evident as I listened to his emotions.

"Michael?"

"I'm here. I just really need you down here, Claire." I said, trying to break my gaze. "I've got a huge problem, and you may need to bring Derrick and Wilson with you."

"What? Why?" She said, angrily. I could tell she didn't like to be in the dark about things, but she had to be. I didn't want her to do anything until she got here. "Michael, you better tell me why I'm getting dressed, and it better be good."

"I have a brother." I replied. I knew it wasn't good enough, though maybe she'd be too caught off guard to interrogate me any further. "Look, you're just going to have to trust me, okay?"

There was a silence from her, but in the background I could hear her shuffling through her dresser drawers for clothes.

"Okay?" I asked again, trying to keep her on track.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be down late tomorrow though." She snapped.

"Why don't you take a plane?" I asked, ignoring her anger.

"Cause I have a fear of heights."

Another silence, more shuffling.

"Alright, I'm set. I have my keys, and I'm texting the other two. Anything else?" She asked. The way she said it was like she was talking to herself, but when she asked again…

"No, no. That should be good. Just hurry okay?"

"Sure, but you better have dinner ready when I get there!" She warned, making me laugh.

"I'll be sure not to disappoint. Just be safe, but be quick. We've only got a few days."

"For what?"

"Love you, Claire. Bye."


	8. A Meal for the Masses

"Claire's going to be here in about an hour." I called out to the others as I poured myself over the kitchen stove. On it was a pot of cooling macaroni and cheese, a skillet full of chicken stir-fry, and a cooling plate of my first ever batch of crab Rangoon. I'd never made them before and figured it fit the situation quite well. I really didn't know how well my plan for the night was going to go, nor did I have the same faith in my new recipe.

Angela snuck behind me and reached for one of the Rangoon, and I smacked her hand like a Catholic school Nun.

"Ow. All I want is one!" She complained, stomping her foot as her stomach growled.

"No. You should have eaten more during lunch. Now go and entertain the others so I don't have them hovering around me." I ordered. This was _my_ kitchen. And you'd think that after living here for three years that they'd all realize this by now. But no. Every time I cooked, someone was lingering behind me, as if I was finally going to give in and let them sneak a bite.

"You are an unfair chef! You know that?" She said stomping away to go rejoin the others outside.

"Yeah, cry me a river." I mumbled lowering the heat on the stir-fry. Of course this wasn't nearly enough to actually feed seven people, let alone wolves, which was why everyone was outside. I'd ordered a lot of Chinese and decided to just cook what everyone had asked me too. The stir-fry at the China Wok was horrible, and that's how this entire meal got started. With complaints.

Alan then decided he wanted mac and cheese, and Nick was quick to join in on his request. So, with my hands tied, I started cooking. _I just wish they had enough patience to wait!_

It wasn't too long though, before Emily and Alan came inside. Alan was a strange child. He showed the same ferocity towards food that we all did, and his metabolism was definitely up to the task of dealing with it, but he still wasn't old enough to change. His time would come at around fifteen, maybe sixteen.

Emily however, was just a glutton. And I made sure to tell her that as much as possible. She was constantly ready for food, which made me guess whether or not that it was because of her and Nick's not having sex. Whereas he would use his addiction to video games to entertain him, Emily really had nothing to do, except bother me to cook, or while I cooked, or even as I set the table.

"Can we eat yet?" She asked.

"How many times do I have to tell you? When Claire get's here with the other two, yes. Until then, no!" I said as sternly as possible.

Yet, they still came into the kitchen. Alan came in on my left side, and Emily strafed the counter too my right. "Well, can we at least get a snack?" Alan asked, inching towards the cutting board that I'd used to dice the chicken, bell peppers, and onions.

I turned on a dime to protect the food. "I swear to god you too! If anyone sneaks _any_ food from this kitchen, I'll throw it all away!" I bluffed. I wasn't about to waste all this good food, but I did want them to go away.

Emily frowned and went back into the living room, where she turned on the sound system and put in her favorite CD. And within seconds, Three Doors Down's 'Loser' was playing softly in the background.

Alan, however, was still standing where he had been when I warned him.

Propping open the front door with the unused coat rack, Emily made her way outside to complain too the other two.

"So who's Claire?" Alan asked.

"She's a friend of the family. More like a mother to me than anything else." I said, turning back on the stove to cover the mac and cheese and place a thin sheet of aluminum foil on top of the Rangoon. I wasn't taking any chances. The stir-fry would have to suffer exposure though, because of the heat.

"What about the other two?" He asked, making me fell as though he was just trying to get something. Yet, when he turned, I saw something completely different.

His chin was down, almost touching his chest, and his eyes were low and gloomy.

"Alan, what's wrong?" I asked worriedly. _He's just lost his mother and you ask him what's wrong?_ Angela thought loudly from the front porch. I wanted to yell at her for saying it, because her tone almost made me laugh. I knew that sometimes I could forget things, mostly important things, but it wasn't something I could help.

"How did you get over your mom dying?" He asked quite blatantly.

I was too taken by shock to answer him automatically. I had to think about it. I didn't want to tell him that I ignored it for over a decade. And after I did the math to make sure that that was correct, I still came up blank.

"I really couldn't tell you, man. I mean, time heals all wounds and all, but…" I shrugged. "The thing is, you can't let it rule you."

He looked up to me. And I knew he was grateful that I could at least offer him that much.

"So what are we going to do?" He asked. I wasn't sure how I was going to break it to him that he wasn't coming with us, but I knew it would have to wait until after dinner.

"_I'm_ going to make sure that she doesn't regret sending you here, and _you're_ going to make her proud."

The sounds of heavy tires sliding to a stop on the loose, gravel driveway tore our conversation from both of our minds.

"They're here!" Emily yelled, making a B-line too the kitchen.

I stopped her dead in her tracks before I went outside to greet them.

"You turn your ass around and be a nice hostess." I said, turning her back towards the door where she cursed, and stomped back outside. She was definitely the proud owner of a one track mind.

Derrick and Wilson were the first to pop out of the small Nissan, and made it to the porch before Claire got out of the car. Everyone was shaking hands, hugging and wondering why we were all here in the first place.

"Michael!" Claire yelled happily as she ran up the stairs and threw her long arms around my neck. She was definitely glad to see me again. It had been almost a year since she'd last visited, but with her job at the local college, she had a hard time coming across the country to see us. "It's so good to see you!"

"Same here. I'm glad yall made it safely."

"Can we eat?" Derrick yelled over the slew of young greeters that had swarmed around them.

"Yes, yes." I said, waving my hands. "We can finally eat."

"Thank God!" Emily yelled, running past me into the house. The sounds of plates being set and silverware dispersed was quick and loud, but at least she was being polite.


	9. Playing the Keepers

The delivery boy finally showed up about ten minutes into the insufficient meal I'd prepared. And upon his arrival, I was glad to get away from the asking glances from my three guests. I'd tried to tune them out at the beginning of the meal, but it's hard to do when also trying to keep a mental eye on Alan. Usually it's an all or nothing thing when dealing with mind-reading, but tonight I had to bend that rule.

I paid the short delivery boy, and was ecstatic to take the three large bags from him.

"You have a good day, sir." He said, appreciatively counting the sixty dollar tip I'd given him. To be totally honest, I didn't really think I had that much in my pocket, but ignorance does make fools of us all. And it wasn't like I was going to take it back, so I bid him farewell and went back inside.

And upon my re-entry to the table, I found my plate a little more empty than I'd left it, and glared furiously at Emily. Who pointed at Alan. Who said she stole it from him afterwards.

"You're like children." I complained, everyone laughed.

"So what's this all about anyway?" Derrick asked.

We were all outside, sitting on the porch with a small radio kicking out tunes. The damn thing was a relic that fed off eight D batteries. Too bad it died after only six hours of use. But I'm getting off track.

"We're here, because I'm going to Canada and I might have a fight on my hands." I said simply, fishing through my pockets for a pack of smokes.

"Why?" He asked with a strange absence of worry. "What'd Marcus do now?"

I looked out into the yard where Alan was helping Nick unpack Claire's car. "Alan's mom, sent him here to live with me, and he killed her for it."

Derrick was quiet after that.

"I don't know the _real_ reason he did it, but I'm positive that when he realizes that I'm not going to give him up, he'll be coming here. And I don't want him on my land." I said simply. That aura of dominance that I'd feel every so often was now creeping up on me. And it wasn't all bad; it was just recognition from the body that I was still in charge. It was something that reassured me when I'd run into trouble.

"Do you think it's because of Dane?" Wilson asked leaning into Derrick.

"Maybe." He responded. Their little conversations were always a nuisance to me, I hated being in the dark.

When they both figured out that I didn't know what they were talking about, they started over. Wilson started while Derrick followed my example and began fishing around in is cargo pants for his cigarettes.

"I think that Marcus is trying to prevent another outbreak of the plague." He said. "Which all began when my brother had his first change. The blue plague that had engorged his claws was the first step in its evolution. The second was the near death experience, and then his body became a war machine. That second wolf form that's been built into both of your systems was what had brought the most fear into him. I mean, what if Dane had decided to make an army of them, just like Marcus's paranoid mind began to believe?"

"So you think that he wants Alan so he can create an army?" I asked, skeptically.

"No. I think that he wants to lock him away. I'm pretty sure he wanted to do the same with you and the girls, but you all are already fully developed." Derrick implied. His second drag of his smoke had paused him. And as he exhaled, "With Alan, he's got one last chance to keep our kind from evolving."

He'd lost me.

"Alan's mom, Evelyn, didn't have any abilities. I knew her well enough to know that she didn't have any witches, or vampires, or shamans, or witch doctors in her family either. I think that whatever's happening to Alan is because of Dane." I couldn't tell whether it was general information or blame. His half-grimace as the smoke dried out his eyes was making it even harder to tell.

"How is this my dad's fault?" I asked defensively.

"Well, not his," Wilson interjected. "It's more like Lucas's fault. You're great-grandfather. You see, he picked a vampire as his mate. A very strange choice if you ask me." He said. I knew why too. They smelled horrible, they were addicted to the garnering the memories of their victims and they loved the taste of blood… well, that last one we all shared. But it was a very strange thing because they saw us even more unappealing. We smelt like a muddy, wet dog, most of us were plagued by a short temper, we sometimes never cleaned up after a good hunt, and usually we got dried blood flakes all over the place. There must've been a reason why these two would have faced all this head on and stayed together. And there must've been a reason why Marcus resented our evolved kind.

"I know. I met one while in Canada." I said, reflecting on Derryl's Angela.

"How'd that go?" Derrick asked, knowing all too well how it went by the look on my face.

"I got thrown into a tree, my nose broken, and almost threw up when she kicked me in the stomach. And Angela broke three ribs while fighting with her. She didn't even try to change." I said, looking over too her with a smile.

"We're getting off topic." Claire warned. "Why did you call _us_ here? Because I doubt that we're coming with you."

"I need someone to protect Alan."

Derrick threw up his hands. "I'm expecting to go kick some ass, and you make me baby sit?" He almost yelled in his complaint. I knew he loved a good fight, but this wasn't his war.

"Derrick! I'm doing this for a reason. And I'm not bringing anyone who isn't my responsibility." I said, trying to contain my anger.

"He's right, you know?" Claire said, taking my side. "We aren't part of his pack, so we shouldn't interfere." Though her words did stifle Derrick's complaining, it did make me feel a little hurt that she would imply that they couldn't help. I knew they could help, and I'd much rather show up at Marcus's doorstep with everyone by my side, but I didn't want to risk my little brother to a lifetime of sitting in an empty cell. If that was what Marcus had been planning. It was too early to start making serious accusations.

"We'll stay here, keep up with whoever might drop by and keep Alan safe. But you better get your ass back here in one piece." Claire warned. It was always uplifting to see her passionate about my safety. She was definitely a mother figure in my eyes.

"One more thing." I added. "If my father and I have a shared advantage, I'd be stupid to not ask if Marcus does as well."

"Yes you would. But no one knows what it is." Wilson replied. "His pack is totally ignorant to his strength, and he's kept it all buried deep behind the hate he holds for it. So if you do wind up picking a fight with him, watch out."

His words weren't very reassuring but they were helpful. I didn't want to go in blind, but having some knowledge was better than having none.

As I stood, Claire touched my arm. "If it's not too personal too him, could you tell me what Alan can _do?_"

I smiled. "That's totally up to him."

That night, I packed my clothes for a short trip, and made sure to have Angela, Nick, and Emily do the same. They were pretty quiet about the whole trip, but I knew that none of them were scared. Or at least, they did their best not to show it. If I even hinted a bit of fear in them I'd make them stay, and they knew that. And so, we pushed on, and packed up Claire's car with our luggage. She'd insisted that we use hers because it was much more reliable than my beat up Tahoe or Angela's rinky dink Civic. And as for Nicks rust bucket of a truck… it was definitely on its deathbed.

"Why do _I_ have to stay?!" Alan yelled. "It was _my_ mom!"

I knew it was going to kill him not to be able to go with us. And it was going to be hard to accept that I wouldn't have him risking his life just for revenge. _But isn't that what I'm doing._

"Because it's not your fault she died!" I yelled back. I wasn't going to baby him. "So you have nothing to repent for!"

He seemed taken back by what I'd said and I knew it was because I'd meant it. I also had a long time to think about what I'd say.

"That doesn't mean I can't help!" He yelled, regaining his resolve. His green eyes were glowing with rage. I was sure it was blinding him.

"Stop trying to argue with me, and just do as I ask." I said, rubbing my eyes. "We'll be back in a few days and then you can hate me all you want." I said, deluding myself into believing it was enough to shut him up.

Luckily Claire was there too wrap her loving arms around him and coax him back inside. I didn't know how to deal with a kid his age. But Claire did. She taught at her old high school for around six years before taking a job at the local college.

And I couldn't have been more grateful.

"Are you guys ready?" I asked them. This was their last chance to back out. And as expected, they all nodded.

"Good. Shotgun!" I yelled.

The girls groaned at my spastic switch from serious to excited as I tossed the keys to Nick.

"Really?" He asked.

"Hey, I slaved over a good meal all night, the least you can do is drive us past Arkansas."


End file.
